Brynn pushed off the side of the car, reaching to catch the coin before he did.
“Let’s just get gas and find an ATM first, Mr. Hangry,” she said, but they were both distracted from the task at hand when a crowd of people poured out of the shack and took up residence in the dusty dirt of the parking lot. Jamie blinked and did a double take, not sure how the amount of people that just exited the building before him could have possibly fit inside unless the Coyote Bluff Café had the same properties as a circus clown car.
There were hoots and hollers as the door swung open again, and Jamie and Brynn watched as a woman with long auburn hair and even longer denim-clad legs emerged onto the small wooden step. In addition to her formfitting jeans, a white halter tank top pulled tight across her, well, the only way he could describe her breasts was huge. They were, in fact, probably the biggest tits Jamie had ever seen, and he’d seen his share. But in his experience, breasts that size weren’t usually so…buoyant…in a top that clearly made wearing a bra impossible. Even Jamie knew that.
“For fuck’s sake, James.” Brynn was next to him now, and she knocked her hip into his. The tone of her voice told him the gesture was one of reprimand rather than something playful.
“What?” he whisper-shouted, feeling like they were intruding on whatever the spectacle before them was.
“You know they’re not real, right?”
“How do they do that?” he asked, unable to look away but knowing he should. “I mean, it’s like they’re floating.”
Brynn backhanded him in the gut, and he caught her hand. On instinct he kept hold of it and then, for no explainable reason, threaded his fingers with hers and squeezed. Her hand flexed and then relaxed into his, and he felt that weird shift between them again, though what direction it went he had no idea.
“Y’all ready?” the woman yelled, and that’s when Jamie noticed what else set her apart from the crowd other than her—halter. She was wearing a veil, and in her raised hand was a small bouquet of white roses.
“Are we crashing a wedding?” Brynn asked under her breath.
“I think we are.”
And then the bride turned her back on the crowd and tossed.
Maybe if she’d been a righty, things would have gone differently. Or maybe if Jamie had parked on the other side of the lot, they could have just gotten back in the truck and sneaked away and found a freaking ATM or a restaurant that took debit cards.
But Jamie hadn’t parked on the other side of the lot, and the well-endowed bride was a lefty who tossed the bouquet just kitty-corner enough that it bypassed the three women, who seemed to be in a game of tackle football, and now resided in Brynn’s free hand.
In a flurry of motion the two were whisked inside the café with the momentum of the crowd, the place obviously closed for the wedding party’s exclusive use. They eyed the small buffet of Texas barbeque, and then they eyed each other and grinned.
Jamie grabbed a paper plate and handed it to Brynn. Then he grabbed one for himself.
“Now,” he said. “Now we’re crashing a wedding.”
They still had no cash, but that didn’t matter.
The food was delicious.
…
Angie and Dean were the lucky couple, and they welcomed them to their celebration with open arms, the whole crowd too nice or too liquored up to care when they realized Jamie and Brynn were strangers.
Speaking of liquored up, this wedding clan sure as shit knew how to party. Brynn could hold her own with a few beers. Hell, even with a shot or two of Jack thrown in. But they were in Texas now, and the Coyote Bluff Café had ten kinds of tequila behind the small bar, which meant this wedding party was getting ten kinds of plastered.
Brynn stared at Jamie who shook his head slowly at her, but his grin stood at odds with the gesture. Did he want her to do this shot or no?
She lifted the small glass, and someone at the table shouted, “She’s going for number three!” The bride and groom joined in, clapping as everyone cheered her on.
Was this really her third shot? Because she felt fine. Totally fine. She felt great, actually. She realized now that Jamie’s smile was more of a smirk, challenging her. And she wanted to smack that smile off his face—if smacking meant licking it.
Wait. Did she just think about licking Jamie’s face?
That was enough for her to throw back the potent liquid without another thought. If this was her third shot, it would be enough to wipe out all tendencies to lick or even think about licking the man sitting across from her. When she slammed the glass on the table, everyone cheered again, and she searched for her lime. When she tilted her head up, her eyes met Jamie’s.